


Full Contact

by LemonCrisis



Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Predator (1987), Predator 2 (1990), Predator Series, Predators (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien Rituals, Blooding Trial, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Growth, Culture Shock, Danger, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Interspecies Romance, Love, Mates, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Male Character, Politics, Self-Discovery, Self-Exploration, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonCrisis/pseuds/LemonCrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dantia works as a volunteer in Brazil, but when a funny looking branch causes her to crash, she gets the chance to go places no other ooman has, but can she adjust to her new life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Funny Looking Branch

*v*v*v*v*v*v*v*

_It was nighttime in the rainforest, but the noisiness of the day had only subsided a little. Water drops from the recent storm still clung to the lush vegetation and the forest smelt damp and earthy. A lone Yautja was out, returning to his ship after a successful day hunting. He jogged along confidently, uncloaked. His natural pitch-black colouring and black armour making him seem a part of the night himself. There was interesting hunting here..._

Mor'che pounded through the damp, humid jungle that was so similar to the ones back on his beloved Homeworld. Several assorted skulls and other random body parts collected throughout the day swung freely from the belt around his toned waist. As he ran, the glaive slung over his left shoulder caught a low hanging vine tendril, sending showers of tiny water droplets everywhere. Some landed on his exposed upper arms, giving them a glossy sheen. He paused for a moment, his large feet sinking slightly in the spongy detritus on the forest floor. Grinning to himself behind his intricate mask, he took several deep lungfulls of the night air. Now this was what he lived for - the solo hunting of the blooded warrior. Being able to go where he liked to find worthy prey, being able to come and go from his Homeworld as he pleased, and having his own ship to allow him to do these things.

His ship was where he was headed back to now, and he began to jog again, his black armour flexing with every move like a second skin. He entertained himself briefly with the thought of getting out of it and into a hot bath. Cleaning up the day's trophies could wait until after he'd had his soak. Putting on a burst of speed, Mor'che prepared to run the remaining distance to where he had hidden his ship.

*v*v*v*v*v*v*v*

Dantia had decided that she didn't like driving in the dark. The giant jungle trees that lined the sides of the rustic road always looked so creepy at night; their huge silhouettes could be hiding anything. She'd finished late today and had had several things she needed to do before she could leave the village. She sighed and pushed back a strand of dark, chocolate coloured hair from her face. She'd put it up in an effort to control it, but every now and then a piece would still come pinging out of the band and wave mockingly in front of her eyes. Humid jungle weather wasn't good to her hair, that's for sure. She shifted slightly forward in the driver's seat, unsticking her back from the worn leather. It had been a long day, and she just wanted to wash the dust and sweat off and crawl into bed. The huge trees blurred past on either side as her Jeep sped along the dirt road. Suddenly conscious of the speed she was doing, Dantia eased her foot off the accelerator a bit. The roads were notoriously bad, and it wouldn't do to go hitting a pothole in the dark. She flexed her fingers on the wheel and flicked a glance at her watch. The delicate hands indicated it was just gone 10pm, and there was still a lot of road to cover before she was home.

*v*v*v*v*v*v*v*

Mor'che was halfway back to his ship when he skidded to a halt. Something wasn't right… Concentrating with his senses as well as his mask tech, he activated his cloak automatically as a precaution and dropped to a crouch, his clawed fingertips splayed on the forest floor. No sooner had he done so than a shot from an energy weapon flew through the space where his head had been and exploded on a tree behind him, a cascade of smoking wood splinters showering down. Mor'Che rose from his crouch and sprinted for cover in one smooth movement, cursing silently. He flattened himself against one of the giant tree trunks, using the buttress-like roots to cover his vulnerable sides. That had been a plasma caster shot, which meant either oomans had acquired Yaut'ja technology, or it was badbloods. He seriously doubted the former, which left him with the fact that he was probably facing his own kind gone rogue. If that were so then his cloak was useless. He dropped the redundant cloak and snarled, rolling out from behind the tree into a crouch further down the root. His mask immediately detected three bipedal heat signatures and he fired his plasma caster at the nearest. Without waiting to see if it had hit its mark, Mor'Che was on his feet and running. He'd have better odds if he could string them out in a chase. His mind raced as he ran. What were badbloods doing here? His clan currently had the hunting rights to this planet, and any others who set foot on it would be considered trespassing at best, and poaching at worst; both of which carried weighty punishments. Not only that, but rogues usually operated alone, going out of their way to keep their activities under the radar and not be seen by a clan Yaut'ja.

Mor'che zigzagged through the trees for a few hundred metres using their giant forms as cover before swiftly ascending one of them and continuing through the canopy. His mask tech now confirmed that his first shot had indeed been a kill, and it automatically logged the coordinates for corpse retrieval - assuming he wasn't killed first. A plan began to form in his mind involving his ship, and he led them on towards it, occasionally pausing to fire off plasma shots at his pursuers. After a few minutes of playing cat and mouse he was halfway back to his ship, on the edge of a large, crude road the oomans had cleared through the jungle. He could hear the engine-noise of an approaching vehicle, and he was sure the others would have heard it too. He grimaced behind his mask - getting an ooman involved would be something his kind would usually avoid, but as these were renegades he had no doubt that they'd use anything to their advantage. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about the whole situation. The one he had killed needed to have his corpse disposed of before it was discovered. His two remaining pursuers had dropped back and were probably following at a distance for now. Mor'che decided to try and avoid ooman contact as best as he could and lead the badbloods away. He'd have to change his plan. The branch on which he was currently crouched was on a tree at the edge of the road, and he rose to leave for better cover. He paused suddenly, for just as the ooman vehicle was coming into view, his mask picked up the signatures it had stored earlier. The two renegades had rallied and were now converging on him at full speed. Mor'che cursed and turned to face them, priming his plasma cannon. It was regrettable, but the ooman would have to be blind and deaf to not notice what was about to happen. He fired shots at the approaching duo, and was pleased to see them slow momentarily. A discharge of superheated energy missed him by an arm's length as they fired back at him, and with a flicker of dismay he saw it had blasted a hole in the road. The oncoming ooman vehicle screeched and swerved off into the trees the other side of the road. Mor'che's next plasma blast caught the first renegade full in the mask and he spun away, dropping 100-foot to lie unmoving on the ground.

The remaining yaut'ja was on Mor'che now and tackled him off the branch, seemingly intending to kill him with the fall. Mor'che grabbed his glaive from the sheath on his back, thrusting the blade swiftly into the tree trunk. With an arm-wrenching jolt his descent was halted, dislodging the rogue's grip from around his torso. Mor'che released his hold on the glaive to drop onto the falling renegade, his wrist blades out and at the ready. The renegade roared, trying to turn so Mor'che was once again underneath, but failed. In a split second the two yaut'ja had landed, Mor'che bracing his feet on the abdomen of the other, who folded up on the impact then lay helplessly, green blood leaking out from underneath his mask. Mor'che planted his feet either side of the stricken yaut'ja and observed him coldly, retracting his wrist blades. He had felt bones snap under his feet, and was pretty sure that several organs had ruptured - all as intended. The renegade was fading fast. Curling taloned fingers along the edge of the other's undecorated mask, Mor'che ripped it off, tossing it carelessly to the dirt as he looked for the tell tale clan mark. He found none. Where it would have been was a ragged, lumpy scar where the bad blood had erased all ties to his previous clan life. Mor'che hissed in disgust. That one of his own kind could sink so low shamed the whole species. His mask auto-logged the coordinates while he stared down impassively at the dying rogue. Behind his mask his thoughts were a whirl. Had these badbloods been working together for something specific? It seemed too coincidental that they would be here at the same time he was. And to attack him first… It was unprecedented. The yaut'ja in front of him let out a last long, gurgling rattle and ceased breathing, his body finally succumbing to its wounds. Mor'che turned away in distaste and went to retrieve his glaive, deeply disturbed by the day's events.

*v*v*v*v*v*v*v*

As Dantia looked out ahead at the trees, she caught a small movement in one of them off to the left hand side. A monkey maybe? No. Even at this distance it was obviously too big to be a monkey. It actually looked almost human, just... bigger. A pang of fear clutched at her stomach and she found herself suddenly reluctant to get any closer. She told herself to quit being stupid - it was probably just a funny shaped branch or something, and her tired brain was seeing it as something else. Those damn jungle trees were bad for her sanity. Quelling her irrational fear, she put her foot firmly down on the pedal, intending to get as far away as possible from the strange looking blob of a silhouette and home to her comfy bed. Just as she thought that, a globe of fizzling light flew out of the trees near where she had been looking and exploded in the road about 20 metres dead ahead of her, the searing brightness temporarily blinding. Dantia gave a startled half-scream and instinctively slammed on the breaks, yanking on the steering wheel to try to avoid driving straight into the explosion. She didn't have time to think as the Jeep swerved off road to bounce through the undergrowth - getting out of this situation as intact as possible became the main priority. Cursing, Dantia threw her arms up over her head, protecting her face. Her world became just a series of jolting movements. All she could do was hope it didn't roll... If it did then she was seriously screwed. The bouncing seemed to go on forever, and she was roughly tossed to one side as the Jeep clipped something. Then there was a crunch, and her consciousness deserted her.

*v*v*v*v*v*v*v*

Mor'che quickly followed the trail left by the rampant vehicle on the forest floor and found it up against a tree, most of its front buckled in. One flickering headlight clung to life, sending sputters of weak light across the ground. Glass scattered all around glinted occasionally with a captured sliver of light. A few stray leaves floated down from the high canopy above, having been violently dislodged by the impact. Sensing no movement and hearing nothing but the surrounding forest, he concluded that the vehicle's occupant must either be unconscious or dead. Mor'che cocked his head and sighed to himself as he considered the possibilities. He could leave the ooman to fend for itself if it was still alive, but it had been quite a bad crash and it was a long way to the nearest ooman settlement on foot. If there were any more badbloods around, he was pretty sure they'd have no qualms about 'playing' with this one if they found it. He focused his mask tech on the vehicle and after a second it picked up the heat signature of the occupant through the fading heat of the engine. Then the ooman's life sign flashed up on the internal display. It seemed it had survived.

"C'jit!" He spat the expletive. Now what was he supposed to do? He sighed as he realised the only honourable thing he could really do was make sure it was safe from any rogues. Leaving it to its own devices would more than likely end up killing it - one way or another - and since he knew that, turning his back on the situation would offend his sense of honour. Mor'che padded carefully over to the vehicle, glass crunching softly underfoot, and peered in, stooping so that his silver-beaded dreadlocks swung round his face.

"Pauk!" He swore again. The ooman was female. That made it all even worse. Fine. He'd just take her back to his ship, check her over to make sure she was stable and drop her off at the nearest settlement; then his honour would be satisfied and he could forget this ever happened. He exhaled slowly and stopped kidding himself. It wouldn't be that simple. She'd seen an energy weapon discharge at least and leaving witnesses around was frowned upon. He should snap her neck now and be done with it really, but he had never been one of those that could deliberately kill civilians just because they happened to catch a glimpse of something or be in the way. There was always more than one option.

He had just curled his large taloned fingers around the handle of the driver door when the first projectile struck him square in the back.


	2. The Rescue

Mor'che had just curled his large taloned fingers around the handle of the vehicle door when the first projectile struck him square in the back.

He snarled, ringed dreadlocks whipping as he spun around, mask searching for the culprit of the dishonourable attack. As he did so, another projectile smacked him straight in his mask, making a wet splatting sound as it impacted. His mask located several heat signatures, locking on to one, and Mor'che realised what exactly was being shot at him. Sticky golden liquid ran down the front of his mask, dripping onto his broad chest. Growling in anger, Mor'che swiped the back of a clawed hand across his mask, removing the offending pulped fruit and flicking it off to one side in one fluid movement. A sticky residue now covered the metal of his mask, tarnishing the matte black, and cold syrupy juice trickled through the holes of his mesh vest. He was fast losing patience with his 'attacker'.

"C'jit" He snarled. It would take forever to clean the tacky mess off. He used his mask's log to locate the heat signatures it had detected, and found the culprits. A group of monkeys had assembled on one of the lower branches of the tree the ooman vehicle had rebounded off. They seemed to be rather agitated – several of them were bouncing up and down. Once they saw they'd been spotted, disorderly screaming emanated from their direction, accompanied by more furious leaping around and gesticulating. Mor'che realised they had probably been sleeping when the vehicle had clipped their tree. Relaxing, he chittered to himself in amusement. They were no threat. As he began to turn his back on them, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his vision. One of the monkeys was just lifting an arm, presumably another fruit clutched in its furred hand. Growling a warning, Mor'che glared at the primate, daring it to piss him off. The monkey, oblivious to the warning, promptly proceeded to lob the fruit at Mor'che. One of the Yautja's mandibles twitched in annoyance under his mask, and he deftly caught the fruit in mid air. Resisting the urge to close his fist around the fruit and crush it, Mor'che instead threw it back at the monkey. Hard. The unfortunate creature was knocked off its haunches by the impact to land stunned and with limbs sprawled on the mossy branch. Sticky fruit juices matted the fur on its forehead, looking almost like blood in the limited light. The rest of the monkeys scattered, screeching in alarm and leaving their twitching comrade to its fate.

Mor'che snorted as he turned his attention back to the ooman. He clamped his fingers around the handle of the vehicle door and wrenched it open. It had buckled in the crash and came off in his hand entirely. It was effortlessly tossed aside, skidding across the forest floor, exposing a damp, dark trail as it scuffed up the thin top litter. Reaching in with one hand while the other gripped the top frame of the vehicle, Mor'che grasped the ooman by her shoulder. His hand seemed huge in comparison to the tiny creature. He gave a careful tug, and when she didn't budge he peered closer. She appeared to be held in place by a restraint strap, and some kind of puffy white balloon had cushioned her face and torso. He tried to press it back to better reach the ooman, but it didn't want to move. Wasting no time, he flexed his wrist and his blades slid out, cold and gleaming. He stabbed the tips into the material to perforate it, then tried pressing it down again. It began to slowly deflate, making a god-awful squeaking noise as it did so. Mor'che growled peevishly and slashed at the annoying thing, shredding it within seconds. Then he turned the blades on the restraint strap. They cut through it as if it was made of paper. Reaching in again, Mor'che gripped the little ooman's shoulders and gave another tug. This time she budged, and he managed to pull her out, her legs sliding loosely over the leather seat. As gently as possible, Mor'che slipped one brawny arm under her shoulders and another behind her knees, tilting her slightly so that her head rested against his chest. She lay limp in his arms and he paused suddenly. Now what?

He glanced down at her, so vulnerable as she lay there. She weighed nothing to him. He shifted the ooman slightly in his arms. It would be hard running whilst holding her like that, even as agile as he was. Truth be told, he was tempted to sling her unconscious form over his shoulder, but he didn't know the full extent of her injuries yet and doing so could inadvertently damage her even more. Turning, he began the trek back to where his ship lay cloaked. Kicking off at an easy run, he loped along, trying not to make it too bumpy. As Mor'che ran he shielded the little ooman from the odd stray piece of vegetation that whipped past.

Apart from the steamy heat, that was one of the things he liked about jungles; the canopy was always nice and high up. No low growing trees or thick vegetation to impede his movements. The only difficult thing was finding a place to land his ship in the middle of the dense forest, away from the more populated and deforested areas. He'd got lucky this time, finding a small clearing just big enough to tuck his ship in. The surrounding forest had been relatively untouched, with just a road winding through connecting a few small local villages together. He increased his pace as he neared the area where his ship was concealed, eager to be rid of this ooman as soon as he could before any more trouble was caused. Although he had to admit to himself he was curious about her. He'd never seen an ooman female up close properly before, only from a distance, and this was an ideal opportunity to study one.

Realising his thoughts were travelling down a dangerous path, he jerked his mind back to the task at hand. Mor'che entered the small clearing where he had hidden his ship. Booted feet crunching softly on the ground, he stooped and gently laid the ooman down on the floor with her back resting against the trunk of a tree. As she lay there oblivious to her surroundings, nestled between two huge tree roots, she looked so small and fragile. Tearing his fascinated eyes away from the ooman, he pressed a couple of buttons on his wrist computer and his ship's cloak melted away, revealing a decent sized matte black craft. Mor'che pressed another button and a ramp slid smoothly down to the ground from underneath the main hatch. Stooping again, he carefully scooped up the unconscious ooman. Her head lolled in the crook of his arm, and he could feel her light breath against his skin. He could kill this little ooman with one bare hand. It was a wonder their species managed to survive, even with their intelligence. But even as the thought formed in his head he dismissed it, having hunted oomans before on several occasions he knew they were not to be taken lightly. Padding over to the ramp, he scented the air before ascending. It smelt like rain. In the distance there was a rumble of thunder - another storm was on the way.

Mor'che ducked into his ship under the low hatchway. Straightening on the other side, he was met by the cold, dark metal of his ship's stark innards. Pivoting on his heel, he extended a clawed finger and lifted his ooman-filled arms until he could depress the hatch control button. With a hiss, the ramp retracted and the hatch slid closed. Another stab of a different button re-engaged the cloak. Now shut off from the encroaching storm, Mor'che proceeded down the barren corridor, his boots clomping on the metal grill of the floor. Passing by a couple of plain unmarked doors, he came to a halt in front of a third. Again he lifted his ooman-filled arms so he could activate the controls for this door, too. It swished open, revealing a smallish room. Sparsely furnished, it contained only a large metal table and some storage lockers containing medical supplies. Stepping over the threshold, Mor'che placed the ooman carefully down on the table. Being made for his species and not oomans, it dwarfed her small frame.

His glaive was unfastened and leaned up against one of the walls after he quickly inspected the blade with a critical eye. It didn't appear to have been damaged, unlike his plasma caster. He went to reach for his mask out of habit, but paused. It was probably better if he left it on, just in case. The last thing he needed was a freaking out Ooman. Working quickly now, Mor'che began to check for injuries. Running firm hands along her body, he first checked for any broken bones or obvious wounds. After a few moments he grunted to himself, pleased - as far as he could tell she seemed fine. To make sure, Mor'che went over to one of the lockers, pulled it open and withdrew a small medical scanner. Glancing down at the screen, he pressed a few buttons and tweaked the settings slightly to allow for the difference in their species. Frowning in concentration, he held the flashing scanner over the female. After a few seconds, it beeped a negative. Nodding to himself, Mor'che switched it off and put it back in the locker. She was one lucky ooman. No permanent or dangerous damage had been detected.

Surprisingly, he found himself reluctant to do anything now he had assessed her medical state. He needed to decide what to do with this witness, but instead continued to stare at her pale skin and the dusting of darker sprinkles that covered her cheekbones. She really was quite short, even for an ooman. Still staring, he found himself almost wanting her to wake up. He'd never interacted with an ooman before - unless you counted killing them, he thought wryly - and he had found himself infinitely curious about them. Oomans were considered to be one of the best prey, but only because of a combination of their intelligence, quick learning and their primitive technology, not their physical strength. As he watched, her fingers twitched and her strange face pulled into what looked like a frown before she released a long sigh and began to stir.

"Pauk!" He swore to himself under his breath. He had wasted too much time. He briefly considered clonking her over the head with something, but in the end he could only stand there as her eyes opened groggily, resigned to the fact that she would see him, and yes, he would have to deal with the consequences. Some part of him had hoped to put off the inevitable decision of what to do with her, but fate it seemed had other ideas. He groaned inwardly as her vague and unfocused eyes slowly took in her surroundings, and then landed on him. She blinked several times, obviously having some difficulty focusing. He looked back at her grey eyes through his mask, trying not to move, some crazy part of his brain hoping that perhaps she wouldn't see him and just fall back into unconsciousness. His hopes were in vain, though. Her eyes widened suddenly and she gawked at him, her confusion written plainly across her face. That quickly changed to fear however, when she focused a bit better. She shakily sat up, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.

Mor'che braced himself. He had only heard an ooman female scream once, and it was not at all pleasant.


	3. Guest

Dantia was having the strangest dream. She was floating in a vast, empty space, enveloped in velvet darkness. Every so often random colours and sounds would invade her senses, making her wince with the sudden vividness, and then she'd be left hanging in the blackness once again. After what seemed like an age, she began to feel sensation in the body she had almost forgotten she had. A dull ache began to filter through, quite the contrast from the floaty nothingness she had been feeling so far. Bits and pieces of what had happened slowly filtered into her detached mind. As the information returned to her, she concluded that she was most probably not dead, and just unconscious. Once she realised this, it was like a switch had been flicked to 'on' as feeling suddenly began to flood back, swamping her as she was pulled back to the real world by an invisible force.

As Dantia came to, she realised that she was lying on something rather cold. The dull ache she'd been experiencing was coming from her entire body, it felt as if her muscles had taken some hefty punishment - like she'd overdone it at the gym or something. Managing to pry reluctant eyes open, she squinted at what appeared to be a ceiling of some kind, which she concentrated on, striving to bring its grey surface into focus. Still somewhat detached from the real world, Dantia pondered the meaning of the existence of a ceiling. She decided that it meant she'd been rescued. Turning her tender-feeling head slowly, Dantia struggled to see the rest of the room she was apparently in. Wherever she was, it was painfully bare. Her fuzzy sight finally landed on what appeared to be a humanoid figure to her left, and she blinked several times, trying to bring it into clarity. Whatever it was, it wasn't moving. Slowly her eyes cleared, and she could see it better. It looked familiar. She blinked some more. Her eyes widened suddenly as her brain caught up. 'Predator!' Her mind screamed at her. But how was that possible? They didn't actually exist, right? Yet she couldn't deny that there most definitely seemed to be one right next to her.

Her mind chose that moment to remind her of the moments leading up to her crash, flashing the memories up like a bizarre collage. She remembered the odd silouhette in the treeline and felt her stomach drop. Coincidences like that just didn't happen, the figure, the explosion and her ending up here - wherever here was - were connected somehow. Dantia gawked at the predator for a few more seconds before deciding it was a good time to panic. She managed to half sit up, feeling weak and shaky, and opened her mouth to scream. Nothing came out. So she simply sat there, her mouth hanging open as her brain struggled to process this drastic new development. Eventually she managed to omit a small, pathetic sounding squeak.

The predator still hadn't moved, and she began to wonder if it was even real. Well, if he wasn't going to move, then she was out of here. It seemed her survival instincts had decided to show up, and she grimaced. Better late than never. Moving as quickly as she physically could - which in her current state admittedly wasn't very fast at all - Dantia lifted herself off the table with her arms and used the rubber heels of her boots to pull her legs to the side of the table and off it. Wiggling her body, she positioned her butt on the edge and the legs of her green combats were pulled up as she slid off the side. Unfortunately it was quite a drop to the floor, and she belatedly realised the table was made for predator-sized things. Her legs jarred as she fell further than anticipated, and she winced. Steadying herself, she looked up and over the table at the predator. Now that she was down and on the floor, she could see just how tall it was. It still hadn't budged though, and that confused her. Maybe it was going to wait for her to reach the door and rip out her spine or something. She blanched at the mental image that brought up, and quickly shoved it out of her mind.

Forcing her unsteady legs to move, she wobbled over towards what appeared to be a doorway of some kind, passing the immobile predator cautiously on the way. Just before she could reach it however, a large hand fell on her shoulder, and the predator it belonged to let out a series of clicks and rattles from behind her. Well, at least she was still in possession of her spine. Taking a deep breath, Dantia turned around to face the predator. Or rather its toned ebony midriff. Her knees wobbled threateningly under her and she quickly grabbed onto the nearest solid object, which happened to be one of the predator's rather large forearms. The alien tensed immediately at her touch. Swallowing nervously, Dantia glanced up at its face, which was quite a way above her own head and hidden behind a foreboding black mask. It had made no other move since it had restrained her, and appeared to be just studying, waiting for her to make the next move.

Dantia stood there, helpless. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. What to do now? If it wanted her dead then it would have dispatched her already, surely? There would have been no regaining consciousness if that were the case. Her eyes wandered over his mask as she decided what to do, taking in every detail. They traced the elegant patterns etched into the black material, very tribal-like, and the colour of fresh blood. The markings spiraled up the sides of his mask and ended at the temples. In the centre of the forehead was a different mark. It looked like a crescent moon with a single spiral nestled in its curve, so the whole thing formed a circular shape. Where his mouth would be, there were grinning fangs engraved in the same blood-red colour. The mask itself extended into what looked like a crest over the top of the predator's head. From behind this sprouted thick, glossy black dreadlocks, many of which were decorated with silver rings. He really was quite an intimidating sight. What was that faint sticky residue on his mask though? She caught a whiff of sweet smelling scent... it almost smelt like... fruit? Dantia blinked suddenly and mentally slapped herself in the face. What was she doing? There was an alien standing right in front of her, and she was just staring zombiefied at it. Having an airbag smack you in the face certainly did strange things to your survival instinct.

She was in no position to do anything here, and he hadn't killed her… yet. Releasing a small sigh, she allowed herself to relax a bit and lowered her eyes, signaling to the predator that she wasn't about to try anything suicidal. The predator clicked at her again, and lifted its free arm. He paused as Dantia flinched slightly at the movement, then gently tapped her forehead with the tip of his talon, clicking some more. Peering up at him under lowered eyelids, Dantia could see he had cocked his head quizzically to one side, and appeared to be waiting for something. She looked up, confused. "I uh... can't understand you." She offered, her voice hoarse.

The predator considered her for a moment with his head still tilted, then carefully prised her small, cold hands off his arm. Making sure she had her feet, he strode towards the doorway. At the threshold, he turned to face her and beckoned with one claw. "Follow." Then he disappeared around the corner. The vocalization was a shock. The voice had been deep and rather gruff, but he had undeniably just used her own language. Dantia's mouth twitched into a lopsided smirk. What a fine situation she'd gotten herself into, and it looked like her only viable option was to play along.

Gathering her willpower, she took a few shaky steps forward, and then paused as a wave of dizziness washed over her. After a couple of seconds, she managed to take the last few steps to the doorway and grasped the cold metal frame for support. Peering round in the direction the predator had gone, she was greeted by a long, barren-looking metal corridor, the giant frame of the alien striding ahead. She frowned. Where the hell was she? Stepping outside the room she'd been in, her boots hit metal grid flooring. Following the predator, she ran one hand along the wall to steady herself as she walked slowly towards the next door, feeling the cold metal under her fingertips. She glanced up as she passed underneath a light. It was a smooth oval pebble shape about the size of an avocado, opaque white and giving off a bright glow. Her tired eyes reflexively skittered away as the brightness stung. Looking ahead, she could see that there were several more of them dotted along the walls. She couldn't help smiling faintly - they were quite pretty. Not what she would have expected at all.

Reaching the point where the predator had disappeared, Dantia peeped through the doorway. As she did so, the predator stepped back out of the room. He gestured for her to enter, and she complied, unwilling to provoke him just in case he was entertaining the idea of killing her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw him touch something outside on the wall, and the door slid closed, effectively sealing her in. Well… there went any chance of escape, she thought wryly, and and proceeded to scan the room she was in. It appeared to be a bedroom of some sort. In one corner was a rather large bed, heaped with luxurious looking fur skins. In her current state it looked like pure heaven, and she was already itching to snuggle up in it and hibernate her way into the next millennia, despite having a deadly alien on the other side of the door. There were some storage crates over to her right, bundled up against the wall. Apart from those and the bed, the room was otherwise somewhat bare. Heading towards the large pile of furs, she passed over a considerably large fur rug and she was suddenly conscious of her dusty boots. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dantia carefully kicked them off and shoved them over to one side with her foot. She briefly contemplated stripping down to her underwear but decided against it, glancing over at the door. Her shirt and combats were not going to save her from death if it came for her, but it made her feel less vulnerable to keep them on. Dantia leaned back into the furs with a heavy sigh, swinging her legs up and onto the bed. She managed to pull a fur over her before she slipped into the welcome embrace of sleep.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V

In the opposite room, Mor'che was sitting on the edge of his bed, furiously scrubbing away at his beloved mask. His mind was swirling as he chewed over what he had just done. Even putting her in the spare room! After a few minutes of muttering to himself about being a stupid pauk-de, he considered what to about the little ooman. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Mor'che held up his shiny clean mask and studied it with a critical eye. Much better.

He clipped it back on and activated the tech, bringing up the coordinates for the corpses of the badbloods and heading out of the door. He stopped briefly to pick up his glaive from the medical room, then strode down the corridor to the main hatch. He paused on the threshold and glanced back at the spare room as the ship's ramp descended, then disappeared into the night.


	4. Timber

Dantia stretched languidly amid a mound of warm furs. Her muscles ached less than they had a few hours ago, the sleep and warmth having helped to ease them somewhat. Her eyelids snapped open as she remembered exactly where she was, pupils nested within hazel rings contracting as they encountered the ship's muted lighting. She sat up, drawing her legs up and over the side of the bed in one smooth motion and stood. Her boots were where she'd left them so she pulled them on, all the while thinking about her situation. The whole thing seemed so unreal, but wherever she was – she assumed it was a ship of some kind given what she'd seen - was testament to its reality. And the memories…. She shook her head to clear it; the situation was indeed very, very real. She had to meet this 'Mor'che' predator and find out what exactly he intended to do with her.

Dantia palmed the control for the door a little apprehensively, not sure if it would work for her or not, but the metal panel slid open with barely a whisper and she stepped into the corridor. A nervous glance up and down assured her it was empty and she headed towards one of the large hatchways situated at either end of the corridor. After a moment she paused, listening. A string of muted, uneven thudding noises were coming from behind her, where the other hatchway was situated. She turned, one hand resting on the cold wall in an unconscious effort to steady her nerves as the hatch opened.

For a second Mor'che was framed in the doorway, the brilliant early morning sunlight outside reducing his form to a detail-less silhouette. She heard the whump again, much louder this time, and realized it was weapons fire. Then Mor'che was falling like a huge, felled tree, and landed face down and unmoving in front of her. Dantia darted to the side of him, quickly assessing the round, smoking blister of a wound on his shoulder blade. Who would attack a predator? She stuck a cautious head round the frame, not seeing anything at first, but then there was a ripple in the air a few hundred yards off at the edge of the tree line and another predator uncloaked. He was huge, even at this distance, and he stood there boldly, his pale milky white skin making him stand out starkly against the green vegetation. She guessed that he knew she was there. He could probably see her with his mask. The fact that he hadn't tried to shoot her face off meant that he probably just didn't see her as worth killing. But then didn't these guys just kill for fun? Maybe he had an ulterior motive... Her mind whirled and she gulped with apprehension as he began to stride towards the ship. She wasn't going to let him just kill them both - or whatever he had in mind - he hadn't given Mor'che a fatal wound, and she had a feeling a guy like that didn't miss a kill if he didn't want to.

Gritting her teeth, Dantia grasped Mor'che's outflung forearm - god it was like trying to grab a tree trunk - and pulled, trying to get his legs inside the ship. He barely budged. A quick glance outside told her that she'd better get a move on, and she tried again, her rising panic lending her strength. Inch by painful inch she dragged Mor'che along the deck, until finally his feet were inside. She leaped over his prone form and raced to the hatch controls. A plethora of buttons greeted her eyes, and she stretched up to palm the one that was a big red circle. The ramp began to retract, and she stood back, willing it to go faster. The white predator had seen what was happening and he picked up his pace, his sheer size and surprising burst of speed making him a formidable sight. With only a few meters to go, the ramp finished retracting and the hatch door slid shut, sealing the other predator out. Dantia fervently hoped that there were no controls on the other side that were accessible to the giant, white monster of a predator.

She relaxed a fraction and leant against the wall, her heart still trying to burst its way out of her ribcage after the heady rush of adrenaline. Thankfully there was no sign of the hatch opening. Her gaze dropped to the predator in front of her and a glint of metal in the back of his thigh caught her attention. She dropped to his side in a crouch and inspected it with a frown. About an inch long, it protruded from the skin of his thigh, three curved metal fins gripping a metal lozenge core. Her frown deepened; it looked to her like a dart of some kind. It would certainly explain why Mor'che had dropped like that, the wound on his shoulder wasn't that bad. The whump of weapons fire greeted her ears again, if muffled, and she swallowed a surprised scream.

Dantia looked around frantically, then dropped to Mor'che's side, shaking the body with as much force as she could muster. To no avail, he was out cold. She reached for the dart, nearly losing her nerve when her fingers brushed the cool surface. She pinched it between thumb and forefinger and gave it a sharp tug. Surprisingly, it came free without protest, a needle as long as the main body sliding smoothly out of muscle and skin. She scooted back, half expecting him to explode into violent movement, but he didn't so much as twitch. She slipped the dart carefully into her pocket and stood, a second bout of weapons fire making her jump.

Dantia dithered for a moment, then with a flash of determination headed for the other hatch. The door opened at her frantic button-pushing, and she ran inside, stopping to survey the room. Directly in front of her was a chair and several screens hanging above it, each one displaying different things. Below these were three terminals arranged in a semicircle in front of the chair. The middle one of these was the biggest, and she headed over for a closer look, scooting round the chair to see better. The controls were in an alien language - naturally - and she scowled. The spikey harsh looking alphabet was entirely undecipherable to her, and she didn't have time to study it in any detail. It was divided into three strips, which she pondered. It was possible that the left controls were for initialising, the middle ones were for in-flight alterations, and the right hand side ones for landing and docking controls. In reality she knew her guesses were stabs in the dark in the most extreme and dangerous way. She hoped fervently there wasn't a self-destruct option amongst them.

After a moments decision, she decided that she'd try based on her theory. There wasn't much other choice. It was either that or have the other predator bust his way in and start killing. She took a deep breath, tucked a strand of wayward hair behind her ear and pressed the first button on the left. Nothing happened. She tried the second, and a window popped up on the overhead display screen. It had two flashing options, and she quickly found the corresponding symbols on the terminal. A yes or no option perhaps? She took a gamble – she didn't really have much to lose at this point anyway - and hit the right hand one. She jumped as a roaring rumbling sound started in the bowels of the craft. Engines? Had she managed to engage them? She glanced back at the screen and noticed it was displaying a diagram of her solar system. Dantia bit her lip and hit the right button again. This time a big red flashing window popped up, but she quickly hit the right button again, and it disappeared. Dantia felt a slight vibration in the floor and ran to the window at the front of the room. She gasped in amazement as she realised the ship was taking off, the ground dropping away below her and the trees whipping violently about in the backdraft. A blast of energy raced out of nowhere, exploding into blue crackling light on the window and she yelped in surprise and jerked back. Risking a quick look out, she saw the pale predator had retreated to the tree line once again and was firing wildly at the ship. It was to no avail though; the craft was ascending rapidly now and gaining altitude at an exponential rate.

Dantia gazed out of the window, hardly daring to believe that she was on an alien craft that was leaving Earth. She was already passing though the cloud layers, which parted like fine mist before the bowed head of the spaceship. A minute or two later and the ship was at the edge of the stratosphere. The Earth dropped away, a blue glow on its heavily curved horizon and Dantia gazed out at her shrinking home for a few minutes in pure awe, before with a guilty start she remembered Mor'Che.

There were no hugely obvious indicators that they were moving, now the engines weren't working hard to escape the clutches of the atmosphere, but there was an almost undetectable, delicate vibration to the deck under her boots as she worked her way back towards the fallen predator. He was exactly the same as when she'd left him. Dantia sighed. She couldn't leave him face down on the floor - that would just be rude. She crouched down beside him and slid a hand tentatively under his collarbone. It felt weird, touching an alien like this. His skin was slightly rubbery under her fingertips, and very warm. She braced herself and pulled his torso up off the ground. She swiveled him around until he was facing the corridor wall, and dragged him towards it. Carefully putting him down, she pushed him over onto his butt, so that he was facing the right way. Dantia gently leaned him up against the grey metal of the wall and regarded him critically. Whatever had been in that dart was probably enough to knock out a whole herd of elephants.

She sighed again and left him there to go look for a blanket or something to cover him up. It was pretty warm, but he looked odd, almost vulnerable sitting there like that - even if he was a predator. She went back to the room where she had been sleeping and tugged a furry skin off the bed, bundling it into an untidy ball in her arms and marching back down the corridor with it. She let it drop into a sheet when she reached him, the top corners held in her hands, and draped it over his lower half.

With that done, she was at a loss what to do next. The bridge was useless to her - there was nothing she could do there now except perhaps accidentally blow them up. That left exploring the other rooms. She headed to the one nearest to her on the left, determined to keep busy lest she have a nervous breakdown. It opened at the touch of a button, and she found herself in what appeared to be a supply room of sorts. A stark metal bed was on her left, with boxes stacked underneath. A device that on closer inspection looked like a scanner of some sort had been left on the bed. To the right were several lockers, each one taller than her and a bit wider. She didn't know what was in them, but decided it was probably something dangerous. There were various other crates and boxes stacked against the far wall that held miscellaneous supplies that she peered at curiously but didn't dare touch. Turning to leave, she realized with a start that this was where she had originally woken up. She hadn't recognized it at first, but now she was facing the door it brought the memory to vivid life in her mind. A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she traced a circle on the metal bed with a fingertip. It didn't seem like mere hours ago that she was in here, more like several days. She hovered for a few moments, remembering, before deciding to have a poke around elsewhere.

The room opposite opened for her also; it seemed that Mor'che didn't lock his doors. The uncluttered, open room was obviously a training area of sorts - a large, square, thin mat took up the centre of the room, easily big enough for two grown predators to spar on, and various combat weapons decorated the walls. There were lockers in this room too, and she was in no doubt about their contents. All in all the room was clean and practical. It reminded her of a traditional dojo in its simplicity. She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a bellow of rage from the hallway. Running to the doorway, she had hit the button before even thinking that it might not be a good idea. The door slid open and she was face to face with one very angry predator. The snarling mask regarded her and for a second, she truly feared for her life. His hands were balled into fists, and she could see the tremors of rage in the corded muscles of his arms. Dantia swallowed nervously, her throat suddenly dry, and took a step backwards.

"What did you do, ooman?" he growled at her at last, his gravelly voice carefully controlled.

Dantia lifted her chin, "I dragged you in, shut the hatch, pulled the dart out of you and made the ship take off." She'd be damned if he was going to let him intimidate her any further.

Mor'che's glassy mask-eyes glinted as he tipped his head a touch, "Dart?"

"The other one of your kind shot you with it."

"What?!" he growled again, "Dirty little pauk'de. I will skin him alive for this." Dantia had no doubt that he'd do just that if he ever caught him, and a prickly shiver ran up her spine. These guys didn't mess around. She pulled the dart from her pocket and offered it to him.

He paused, then deftly plucked it from her fingers, studying it silently through the blood-red eyes of his mask.

"This is what we use to tranquilize prey when we transport them to game worlds," He said finally.

Dantia saw then that the pale predator had sough to humiliate and dishonour the one in front of her, and she said as much.

He regarded her curiously, "Yes little ooman, that is so. He shall pay for this."

Dantia gulped at the scrutiny, "So... you're going back?" She felt a swell of hope in her chest.

"No. He will be long gone."

No? Then how would she get back? Unless, of course... he wasn't planning to take her back. She was just one unlucky human who had got mixed up in the wrong thing. Realisation struck and she felt a peculiar calm wash over her.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you." 


	5. Chapter 5

"You're going to kill me, aren't you."

Mor'Che was surprised by the little ooman. It hadn't been a question; she had stated it with a kind of weary acceptance. Truth be told, it _had_ been the first thing to cross his mind once he turned his attention to this part of the problem, and it would be the easiest - indeed even the expected - way. His species had always remained hidden, hunting on the fringes. Taking care of unarmed, innocent witnesses wasn't usually a task his kin had to deal with, because it very rarely happened. When it did, it was left up the the individual hunter's discretion to weigh up the threat of exposure vs honour. The various leaders of the ooman's world were well aware that they weren't alone in the galaxy, but his species did their best to make sure that the general population's suspicions remained that - just suspicions. More care had to be taken in certain areas than others, like cities and highly populated clusters. In the more natural, wilder parts they could still afford to be less stringent. Wildlife, weather and the natural cycles of a biome took care of any marks they might leave behind with unmatched efficiency.

The female in front of him did seem to possess some resourcefulness, having managed to get both of them out of a potentially lethal situation, albeit with a good dose of luck. She was looking up at him now with her strangely coloured eyes, waiting for his affirmation of her death. He cocked his head at her curiously. Oomans had always fascinated him. Considered to be one of the best prey species other than the hardmeats, they were physically quite weak and relied on their intelligence and technology. He had always wondered if an ooman would be able to adapt to his species' way of life. And now he had the chance to find out. If she was brave enough to take the bait.

"You saved my life," he said finally, "And for that I will spare yours."

She blinked, her odd features morphing into evident surprise. She really had believed he'd kill her in cold blood, and he felt an unfamiliar stirring of shame as he thought how easily he'd entertained the idea.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he cut in, raising a clawed hand, "However you cannot return just yet."

"What?" She looked stricken, "Where will I go?" despair tinged the edges of her voice, "If I can't go back to Earth, then where will I go?"

He paused, giving the question serious thought.

"I do not have the fuel for another atmospheric exit."

When the ooman's brow furrowed he elaborated, "Earth was my last stop before refuelling. I cannot re-enter your planet's atmosphere and exit again until I refuel my ship. I'd be stranded there until another of my kind arrives."

"Oh." The ooman's voice was subdued. She looked up at him, "How… uhm… how long will refuelling take?"

Mor'che considered her question. He'd have to quantify it into her measure of time. The span of a day/night cycle on Earth was slightly different to his homeworld. He ran a few calculations through his head.

"There and back will take approximately seven of your Earth days."

Her strange face fell again, and he almost felt sorry for her.

"You can stay with me until I am able bring you back to your planet. You will be safe here."

"Okay," she took a deep breath before meeting his eyes and nodding, "Okay, thank you."

Though obviously unhappy with her situation, she was taking it well. But there were no other options open to her.

"I know this isn't ideal, but I will return you to your homeworld once I am able."

When she nodded again he made a pleased sound, then made his way to the bridge, the ooman trailing along behind him.

He nearly choked when he saw the control screen. The unassuming, unthreatening little ooman he had just invited to stay had somehow managed to set them on a collision course with the sun in her solar system.

Elders above, maybe she wasn't so harmless after all.

He suppressed the sudden urge to put his face in his hands and instead busied himself correcting course. It was nothing short of a miracle that she'd even managed to take off, let alone plot a trajectory course. He shot a sideways glance at the female. She was hovering, clearly uncomfortable and unsure what to do with herself. He stepped back from the controls, turning to face her,

"Do you wish to explain why we were on a collision course with the sun?"

Her eyes widened "The sun?!" she squeaked.

"I commend you on your efforts to get the ship off the ground, but maybe it's best to leave it to the experts next time." His mandibles twitched in amusement behind his mask as he watched her process his sense of humour. A shy, fleeting smile appeared on her face as she realised he was joking. He moved past her into the corridor, motioning for her to follow. Leading her to the room she'd been put in before, he pointed towards the door, "These quarters are yours until we can return."

She nodded, "Thank you."

"The rest of the ship is open to you, but it may be better for you if you limited yourself to the exposure."

"Is it dangerous?"

Mor'che snorted, "No more than any other. But the leaders of your people are. When you go back to your home you may be in danger."

"Oh," She frowned, "The government?"

Mor'che inclined his head, "They know that other species exist. If they find out you've had contact they will come for you." He regarded her not unkindly, "So it is better for you this way."

She nodded in wordless agreement.

"That being said," Mor'che felt compelled to add, "If you wish to you can use the training room."

"Oh no! I can't… I mean, I'm not…" She waved her hands around as she grasped for the words, "I've never had any kind of training. I wouldn't know where to begin." She admitted finally.

Mor'che felt a long-absent but familiar excitement bank in his chest. The challenge of a new youngling to train always used to set it off, but he hadn't taken on a trainee for many years now. He crushed the dangerous urge back down with a ruthless surge of willpower. Now was definitely not the time to be getting such radical ideas. He had no idea if she'd truly be suitable yet. But there was precious little she could use on the ship that the oomans didn't already have some idea about, so letting her stretch her legs would be relatively risk free to his species.

"Nevertheless," he said, "Should you change your mind you are welcome." He turned, heading back to the control room and leaving the ooman by her quarters. 

*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V*V* 

Dantia was in shock. Or at least it felt that way. It was like her head had been emptied and then refilled with cotton wool. Seven days. She couldn't go home for _seven days_. She'd have been reported missing by then, her wrecked jeep found. Presumed lost in the jungle. Given up for dead. She chewed on her lower lip.

And what the hell was she going to do on an alien ship for that long? He'd offered the use of his training room - pretty much the only thing to do on this ship that she could discern - while at the same time warning her off too much contact. She could see his point. Turning up suddenly after being missing would mean many questions posed, and she'd have to lie convincingly enough as it was without waltzing around exposing herself to more of his culture. Her fingers clenched into fists. She hated the idea of governments acting like they could get away with anything if they were sneaky enough about it. She didn't doubt now that they had whole sections devoted to alien research, and knew they'd have no qualms about making a single person disappear without a trace. The whole cliche movie thing about shady government organisations was probably truer than anyone realised, she thought with a tight smile. So hell, if there was a high chance they'd catch her anyway, she might as well make the most of the next seven days.

Now that she was decided, she crossed diagonally over the corridor to the training room that she'd seen before, taking the predator up on his offer. The door opened with a smooth swish and she stepped inside, noting again the weapons lining the walls. This time she could explore at her leisure, and so she did. She stood with her hands behind her back while studying the strange guns, afraid to touch anything lest she accidentally blow a hole in the hull of the ship. It hadn't exactly been a lucky couple of days. The guns were varied in design but all shared one common characteristic - they were big. Far too big for her. She'd only be able to lift something small and light. Her eyes slid to the opposite wall, crammed with blades and close combat type weapons of all kinds. She crossed the central mat and was reaching out to run her fingertips over an ornate spear when the door opened, admitting the predator. He barely cleared the predator-sized doorway without having to duck, his giant obsidian frame a looming presence. Dantia snatched her hand back, straightening to face him while she tried not to let the instinctive guilt show. He _had_ said she could use the room, after all.

"You are here against my advice, why?"

Despite the directness of the question, he didn't sound angry, only curious. She shrugged, "I decided that if my government wants to detain and interrogate me, I might as well give them something to arrest me for."

When he cocked his head to one side in contemplative silence she added, "Extra exposure to your culture on top of what I've already had is not going to make me any more likely to be detained. If they happen to come after me then I'd rather have had the experience than not."

The predator nodded, "That is a good attitude to have." He seemed pleased for some reason and regarded her for a moment, before speaking again, "The weapon behind you is called a combi-stick."

Dantia felt heat suffuse her cheeks. She reminded herself again that she hadn't been prying.

"It is mainly used for close combat, but it can be thrown." he continued, striding over to pluck it off the stand and twirl it in an impressive display of dexterity. Then it suddenly shrunk, withdrawing into itself until it was less than a quarter of its original length - not much longer than a rolling-pin.  
"It is also retractable." The predator tipped his hand towards her so she could see him thumb a discreet button to make the deadly ends spring out again. He hooked it back on the stand.

She reached out a hand and traced the ornate ridges of the weapon's shaft with her fingers. The metal held faint traces of fading warmth from the predator's palm and she marvelled at the intricacy of the workmanship. She wondered if there were those of his kind who made things rather than just killed things and resolved to ask him about it later. They had to get their weapons and ships from somewhere after all.

"If you wish, I can teach you some basic hand to hand combat while you wait to return to your homeworld."

Dantia blinked in surprise, the offer entirely unexpected. For a predator who had warned her that exposure to his kind would be dangerous for her, he was strangely eager to teach her things. Self defence and martial arts had been on her bucket list for years, amongst other things, along with a trip into space.

"Yes please," she heard herself say, "I'd like that."

Why the hell not.


End file.
